


Make Someone Happy

by elle2706



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Christmas Eve, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Meddling, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5430008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle2706/pseuds/elle2706
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard would never describe his life as Lifetime movie material, but somehow he ends up with Frank Iero as pretend boyfriend for Christmas Eve. And while all Gerard wants for Christmas is Frank; Frank has made it known he doesn't exactly feel the same way. Can Gerard get through the holidays without the burden of a broken heart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Someone Happy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Andeincascade (Ande)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ande/gifts).



> Fic title inspired by Jimmy Durante's "Make Someone Happy"  
> Lyrics from the following songs were referenced in the story:  
> "Maybe This Time" performed by Liza Minnelli  
> "Space Oddity" performed by David Bowie.
> 
> Beta'd by CStarr (thanks, bestie.)
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story! Happy holidays and have a great New Year everyone!

 It’s funny how the things you wished would always stay the same are the things that will inevitably change, whether by your own conscious action or by the simple fact that everything changes.  Like Christmas, I can’t help but think as a rendition of _Silver Bells_ fills the shop from the Bluetooth speaker my brother got me for my birthday. I used to _love_ Christmas as a kid and truly believed back then that there was magic, and it’s what lit the multi-colored lights brightening Ma’s house from within and from outside; it’s what blanketed the whole town, not just in snow, but in a calming sense of peace and goodwill; it’s what helped an old, bearded man visit the homes of children around the world with a sack full of gifts. And now at the ripe age of twenty-six . . . I glance around the nearly empty comic book shop I owned, decorated with tinsel, snowflakes, and a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, my gaze stopping at a five foot Jabba the Hut plush toy (not for sale) donned in a purple scarf and Santa hat keeping sentry at the front of the wide storefront window and I grinned. And now these days I still like Christmas, but not in the same, wide-eyed wonder kind of way. Liking something isn’t the same as loving it. Growing up sucked all the magic behind Christmas, and that was most of the fun wasn’t it?

With that admission, I glanced around the comic book shop I owned half-expecting Holden Caulfield to appear before me like the Ghost of Childhood Past, give me a sneer and call me a phony repeatedly.   Instead, the sole customer, a harried-looking young woman, came by to check out an issue of Young Avengers and some _Star Wars_ figurines. I watched her leave the store, the sleigh bells over the door’s entrance sounded their tinkling laughter as she exited.

I looked out my store window from my spot by the register, getting an eyeful of parking lot, parked cars, and a grey-skied mid morning backdrop to it all. Despite how near we were to the holidays, traffic had been pretty sparse through the morning for my business and, from the looks of it, for the rest of the shopping plaza, as well.

The distant sounds of incoming low, male voices and a high pitched giggle perked my attention up like Pavlov’s dog hearing the dinner bell. A pack of teenagers ambled past my windows, raucous and joyful. And though I knew better, my eyes searched the group trying to catch sight of a certain guitarist-slash-vocalist; I imagined said individual separating himself from the passing pack to walk into my shop, his hair dark and curling, smile smug and tinged with mischief directed at me.

I shook my head trying to disperse the daydream before it could continue further and returned my attention to my sketchpad, working on the shading of an original character design. My concentration lasted only so long on the task of shading before it wandered.

And then there are those less-funny moments when you actually want something to change. When you take a leap of faith to attain something different and ultimately better. But it just ends up blowing up in your face. You pulled the rotten “lose a turn because you make dumb life decisions” card, and you’re left at the exact same place you were before you took that damn risk:  Alone in your comic bookstore, hoping a certain someone will walk through that –

“Earth to Gerard! Can you hear me?” the voice of God boomed into my ear.

I jolted in surprise, banging my elbow into the register and flinging my pencil into the parts unknown.

“Motherfuckin’ ow!” I said, rubbing my elbow and glaring up at Ray Toro, best friend and current enemy of my injured elbow.

“Sorry.”  He said though he didn’t sound sorry. Before I could call him out on it though, I spotted the shrew, discerning glint in Ray’s eye and his sly smile. Signs that instantly alerted me that Ray was in a meddling mood.

Here’s the thing about Ray: at first glance, he can come off as this unassuming, plain tall guy with his glorious halo of brown, fuzzy curls the most outstanding thing about him. And you’d be wrong, motherfucker. Ray Toro is so, so much more. He’s a bit of a genius, and a damn talented guitarist who is becoming quite a sought after studio musician these days.  Though most days, he is content on devoting his energy on the business next to my shop which he runs as a music store on the first floor and as a studio and band practice space that he rents out on the second floor. Honestly, I’m touched that Ray still kept our friendship even after we graduated high school.

Though “touched” is hardly what I would call the current feeling coursing through me as I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at my friend.

“I called your name a couple of times but nothing. Where were you, Major Tom?” Ray said, friendly enough.

“Sitting in a tin can far above the world?” I said cautiously.

“Oh? Does this tin can happen to be called the _I Heart Frank Iero_ ?” Ray sounded as if he just won a game of _Clue_ (Gerard Way, in the comic shop, daydreaming about Frank!).

My face immediately started flushing at the mention of _his_ name, but still I valiantly tried prevaricating. “Who says ‘heart’ in lieu of ‘love’? Are you secretly a middle school girl beneath all that hair, Toro?”

If possible, Ray’s smile widened. “My apologies, I didn’t know you were at the all-important love level with your crush.”

I winced, cursing friends who were too clever for my own good. Feeling like a hooked fish, I sputtered my denial, “Come off it! I – what? Who even? I wasn’t even thinking about Fr—“

Ray pointed his finger at me cutting me off. “Please, don’t try to deny it. I know because you have that dumb forlorn look you’ve been wearing for a month now. It’s like a mix of tragic romantic heroine and that painful look of someone trying not to pass gas.”

I wrinkled my nose, “Charming.”  I rested my head on my hands and sighed heavily, “I just can’t stop thinking about him, Ray. It’s been a month since he pretty much said thanks, but no thanks. Shouldn’t I be done with these feelings by now?”

“Well, he didn’t actually _say_ those words.”

With a bland stare, I said, “Sleeping with someone once, sneaking off early in the morning without saying goodbye, and then avoiding the person you slept with is pretty much guy code for _I’m rejecting you_.”

Ray’s mouth pursed, frown lines marred his forehead, and he too rested his head on his own hand on the counter. “It just doesn’t make sense. He never struck me as the kind of guy to indulge in a one night stand with a friend; he’s a pretty careful guy in that regard.” Ray’s eyes had that faraway look he got when he was thinking hard about something. Good ol’ Ray always trying to make rational sense of a weird, emotional world.

I didn’t know what to tell Ray. That sometimes these things happen? People surprise you at the worst of times? The facts were simple: I met Frank at Toro’s music store during the summer when he signed up for a regular seven o’clock slot on Tuesdays and Thursdays to rent the practice space for his band.  I pretty much had a crush on him from the instant his hazel eyes brightened in laughter at something dumb I had said. Before long Frank became more than a passing acquaintance that I hoped to see when I would visit Ray after closing down for the evening. Our friendly encounters became a friendship seamlessly, and soon Frank made a routine of visiting my shop some time during the day on any random day of the week. I contented myself with just being friends with Frank. Even when I swear I had seen a glint of interest in his eyes, or noticed his smile, when directed towards me, was fond and gentle. Because the worse and best fact out of this whole thing was that I’ve never felt as happy as when I was just around Frank.

And then it all went to hell a month ago. The scenario isn’t a new one. I had Ray and Frank over my place to watch movies. At some point Ray left; Frank stayed. I wasn’t drunk, all I had were two weak, shitty beers Ray had brought over, but I felt emboldened to lean over and kiss Frank on my couch. He didn’t pull away, and after a second or two of shocked stillness, he pressed forward and kissed back.  The sex was pretty spectacular.

The morning after? Not so much. It’s like I told Ray, Frank snuck out of my bed without a word. But what even Ray doesn’t know is that Frank show his face later that day. The smile on my face quickly fled upon looking at his somewhat embarrassed, pained expression, as he walked closer to the counter. He said the words nobody wants to hear from the one they like. _Yesterday was great but it was a mistake. I really don’t want to ruin our friendship, Gee._ I could only nod like a dumb bobble-head in agreement.

Even now, recalling that moment, I can feel the embarrassment twist my stomach.

And that’s how that pathetic story goes. We really haven’t crossed paths since. He has gone his own way, and I’ve kept to mine. So much for returning to what we were. Story of my life.

Ray’s voice pulled me from a deep well of sadness I’ve been doing my best to avoid. “Maybe if you tried talking to him? He’s been pretty busy lately I’ve heard, but I’m sure if you asked, he’d make time for you.”

I snorted my disbelief and almost choked on some spit. “And say what, why don’t you love me? I can try my best Glenn Close from _Fatal Attraction_ impersonation while I’m at it.”

With a frown that foretold an argument, Ray started, “I’m serious. I’m positive there is more to this –“

“Ray, please, enough. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but just leave it alone. I’ll get over this. I will.” I smiled a bit to soften my stern tone.

With an aggravated huff, Ray only shrugged. It wasn’t the agreement I was looking for, but it was the best I was going to get.

 I nudged Ray, “Want to get some Chinese across the street? It’ll be my treat.” I widened my eyes and tilted my head to remind Ray how cute of a best friend I am.

Ray chuckled and ruffled my hair, “Sure. But I’m telling ya, Gee. I don’t feel like this is the end of this.”

I rolled my eyes at the strangely optimistic Toro while trying not label the feeling in my gut as hope or dread.

 

***

 

[Incoming Call : _Mom_ ]

“Hey, Ma.”

**“Gerard, sweetie! How’s my baby doing?”**

“Uhm, I’m ok. Just working on the Phillips illustration piece that’s due Friday actually. What’s up?”

**“Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to interrupt your work, but this won’t take long to discuss.”**

“What won’t take lo-“

**“So I ran into one of your old high school classmates at the grocery store! Such a charming and cute young man. We got to talking a little at the check-out, and somehow you came up.”**

“Not again.”

**“Honey?”**

“Mom, please tell me you are not pimping me out to random men who claim to know me at the grocery store! You said you would stop doing that.”

**“I promised I’d stop doing so at church . . .”**

“What was that?”

**“Anyway, he’s recently moved back to Belleville and is interested in reconnecting with old acquaintances and friends, and he sounded interested in you, so I got his number and really think –“**

“How? How is this my life??”

“AND I really think you should give Bruce a call and just see how it goes.”

“Wait, Bruce? _Bruce_ _Greco?!_ ”

**“Gerard, honey, you really shouldn’t shrill that way over the phone, it’s unseemly. And yes, the one and the same! So you remember him!”**

“ I remember him hassling me back in high school, yes! He was nicknamed something ridiculous like The Hammer back then. How could you think to try and set me up with that homophobic  Neanderthal, Ma?!”

**“I don’t think he’s homophobic any more going by how tight his jeans were, haha.”**

“Ohmigod.”

 **“Besides he pretty much told me he** **_hammers_ ** **for your team now.”**

“Gross. Can’t believe you went there.”

_**Chuckle**_

“. . . Who’s that laughing?? I know that dork of a laugh . . . M - Mikey is that you on the other line?”

“ _Shit. You caught me.”_

“MOM! How could you not tell me that Mikey was on the other line listening in on this?! Goddamn, landlines! ”

**“Well, I didn’t know, hon. I last left him in the living room with your father, but you know how sneaky your brother is.”**

“ _I excel at sneakiness.”_

“You excel at being a pain in the ass, bro.”

**“So you’ll give Bruce a call?”**

“No! Absolutely not, never that jerk. I don’t care if that motherfucker got bitch slapped by Mother  Theresa’s ghost and by the powers of that bitch slap became a model of saintly niceness, I still wouldn’t give him the time of day.”

“ _That’d be hardcore, being bitch slapped by Mother Theresa’s ghost_.”

“Right? I kind of need to draw that now.”

“ **Gerard Arthur Way, why do you never even give the nice men I find for you a chance?”**

“Because you have these amazing super powers of setting me up with the worst gay men Jersey has to offer!”

**“Well excuse me for trying to help!”**

“Who says I need your help finding a guy?!”

**“Well you hardly seem to be helping yourself out in that department, I must say!”**

“Well, say that to my boyfriend!”

**“You’re what?”**

_“The plot thickens.”_

“The boyfriend that I recently started going out with . . . like very recently.”

“ **Gasp! Are you serious, Gerard?”**

“Yes?”

**“ Honey, why didn’t you just tell me sooner?!  And here I went on about Bruce when you have yourself a man!”**

“Uhm, well, I didn’t want to say it over the phone. Er, I was hoping to introduce you all in person . . . or something like that.”

_“My bullshit sensors are tingling.”_

**“ Of course, of course! Christmas Eve would be a perfect time to introduce him to the family. We would be glad to have him over!”**

“R-right. Christmas Eve, I’ll be there  . . . with my boyfriend, ha.”

**“Perfect! Ooooh, I can’t wait to meet him! How exciting. I’m going to let your father know right now.”**

[Line disconnects]

“ _Well, I’m certainly looking forward to Christmas Eve. Are you?”_

“Fuck.”

 

***  


Resting my head on the cool surface of the checkout counter, I released a small, frustrated groan. The sound, I felt, didn’t fully resonate how fucked I was going to be in about three days, so I tried another groan, louder and more aggrieved.

“Oh, sure, dramatics are going to help your situation.” Ray said from beside me. Today we were at his shop. I having fully taken advantage of my part-timer, Ross, by ditching him with the shop as soon as I knew Toro wasn’t busy with guitar lessons or a studio session. Though why I was so anxious to tell Ray about the clusterfuck yesterday’s phone conversation with Ma (and Mikey) left me in, I don’t know. As far as best friends go, Ray utterly failed at sympathizing with my plight or offering advice. He fully subscribed to the _que sera, sera_ philosophy apparently.

I turned my head, still keeping close contact with the counter, and tried to set Ray’s halo of hair on fire with the power of my glare. Ray continued to read a National Geographic magazine, impervious and non-flammable. I huffed and said, “Nothing is going to help my situation, Raymond. When I turn up to Ma’s house on Christmas Eve, single and piteous, Mom is going to double, no, triple her efforts to find me the worst men in history to date. And Mikey will laugh at me and forever will refer to this Christmas holiday something like The Christmas Gerard Brought His Imaginary Boyfriend Home or some shit like that.”

That distracted Ray from his magazine, he smirked, “Sounds like a Lifetime movie I never want to see.”

I paused, thinking about it for a second. “I dunno, I’d give it a try.”

A snort of a response, “You would, loser.”

We had to pause our conversation when a tatted up girl in a flattering dress stopped by to ask Ray questions about pedals he had in stock. I kept imagining how the 24th was going to go, and while the consequences when my family found out I lied were hardly the stuff of tragic plays or disaster movies, I knew I’d be eating a huge fucking serving of humble pie. And already I didn’t like the taste of it; tasted like lonesome failure, yum yum.

I felt a comforting rub on my shoulder which soothed me a bit; I gave Ray a small smile. He’s not such a bad friend, ya know? Then he said in that all-knowing way of his, “Cheer up, Gee. All you gotta do is find a boyfriend and take him home for Christmas.”

Gathering myself up from my slouched position, I looked around the store exaggeratedly, “Oh, sure!” I splayed my arms outward, probably looking like a deranged weirdo asking for a hug, and said in my best southern belle voice, “Just look at all the men lining up to date little ol’ me. Who should I choose to take home to Ma?”

“Such sass,” Ray sounded awed.

“You!” I pointed at a lone, hipster looking guy walking nearby, startling him. “Would you like to be my Christmas boyfriend?”

“Christmas Eve, technically,” Ray provided with a raised finger.

Hipster Dude reddened, shook his head before slowly back-stepping a couple of steps and exiting the store in rush.

I clutched at my heart in faux pain, “Ah, rejection! I know you so well!” And I do, I really, truly do.

“Thanks for scaring a customer away, Gee.” But he laughed as he said it, taking the sting away from the scolding. “But seriously, I meant what if you found someone to pretend to be your boyfriend.”

I sighed, tucking my chin on top of my arms. “I’m flattered you think I even have options from which to choose a pretend boyfriend. That’s sweet, but that well is pretty dry too.”

I could hear a smile in Ray’s voice, “I don’t know. You could be surprised.”

I hummed absently, wondering about the intricacies of a pretend boyfriend . . . like would a Craigslist ad work? I shuddered at the thought, distantly hearing the gentle swoosh as the entrance door opened. Maybe Hipster Dude found the courage to return; I felt a bit bad for scaring him away.

“Hmmm,” I glanced at Ray, immediately spotting a glint of plotting in his brown eyes.

I almost didn’t want to ask. “What?” Almost.

“Why don’t you ask Frank? You’re pretty good friends with him, right?”

My muscles quickly locked at the mention of Frank’s name. Well, almost all my muscles, my heart started to rumba in my chest like crazy. “What?! No way! He wouldn’t go for it.”

“Sure he would! It’s exactly the kind of thing he would get a kick doing.”

I looked at Ray in disbelief trying to gauge why he thought his idea was a great one considering he knows our situation, but the fool only regarded me with encouragement. I shook my head and said firmly, “Trust me, I really doubt Frank would be up for it.”

“What wouldn’t I be up for?”

In my surprise, I bleated like a scared goat, a scared goat with flailing arms. I turned and there he was. A chuckling Frank before me. “Geh,” I said eloquently, you know, to make up for the flailing goat imitation.

“Gerard needs a pretend boyfriend for Christmas Eve so that his mom won’t set him up with Bruce Gecko”

“Greco,” I automatically corrected, aiming another death glare at loose-lipped Ray the Traitor.

The curve of Frank’s smile flattened slightly as his eyebrows furrowed. “Who’s Bruce Greco?”

Before I could say Bruce was no one important followed by the fact that I should _really_ get back to work, Ray quite helpfully answered first.

“Just some guy Gerard was acquainted with in high school.”

I sputtered, and couldn’t help and think what I had done to Ray for him to get back at me in such an embarrassing way.

Frank’s eyes – the green of his hoody brought the green tints in the whiskey brown – caught my own. He was fully frowning now. “And you don’t want to be set-up with this guy?”

“No!” I burst out, “I don’t want anything to do with his hammer!” I can’t believe I said that. Why, why why? Heat creeped up my neck, soon I knew it would stain my cheeks. Ray, the bastard, was practically convulsing with laughter.

On the bright side, my blunder eliminated the dark frown from Frank’s lips as he laughed. At me, I know, but, hey, I’d take it.

“Okay, noted. No tools for Gee for Christmas.” Frank said; Ray hooted in approval.

My smile was shaky at best, palms a bit sweaty. This conversation was going better than I expected. I thought if we ever got around to talking to each other again, we’d be awkward, cardboard versions of ourselves trying to ignore the truth that we’ve seen each other naked and then some. Instead, it was like we were back to normal, as if the one month of silence and avoidance never happened. Except Frank’s gaze wouldn’t hold mine for longer than a second as we’d talk. Almost as if Frank was afraid he’d see cartoony hearts for pupils in my eyes. I couldn’t help a squirm of embarrassment at the thought. But still  . . . it’s a start.

“So, ya think you can help Gee out, Frankie?”

A start that I had to end right now. “No,” I looked at Frank, trying to send him a mental apology for my meddlesome best friend. “No, Frank, you don’t have to, uhm go out of your way. You’re so busy lately, right? And it’s a crazy thing to ask for.”

Frank’s smile was still easy, but his eyes were serious, his expression slightly mulish. “I don’t mind.”

My mind reeled. This was a day for all expectations getting thrown out the window. My voice was small in my confusion, “You . . .  don’t?”

I don’t know what Frank read in my expression, but he grimaced slightly though it was quickly replaced by a smile I wondered if I’d imagined it. He shrugged casually, shuffling on his feet slightly as he said, “Nah. I don’t have anything planned for the holidays. I’d like to help you out, Gee. If you want, I mean.”

I stared at Frank. And stared and stared. My mouth may have been opened slightly. Ray not-so-subtly elbowed me and it kick-started me into action.

I nodded and I think I said “sure” though it sounded far away because I was completely in my head wondering if this was really happening. A cautious, pessimistic voice in my head drawled that this was a bad idea. And I agreed. But a bigger, slightly desperate side of me that had a direct connection to my heart wanted this so badly if Frank was willing. I wanted to take Frank home for Christmas, if it was only under the pretense of being boyfriends.  I was shameless enough to take it with grasping hands.

Foolishly , in my head I heard Liza Minnelli sing in encouragement, easily overpowering the voice of reason. “ _Maybe this time, I’ll get lucky. Maybe this time, he’ll stay. . . “_

And who was I, plain, old Gerard Way to argue with the wisdom of Liza?

Ray threw the keys to the band room to Frank, which he caught with an overhead catch causing a slice of tan skin to peek through as his shirt rode up. Automatically, my eyes zoomed onto the exposed skin like the perv I apparently was, and I remembered how soft the skin by his hip bone was.

I dragged my eyes away from the sight but much too late because Frank’s grin seemed to tease that he knew what I was thinking. Feeling hot (and bothered), I coughed into my fist and turned away feigning great interest in a framed Hendrix poster on the far wall.

There was the sound of keys rattling its key chain before Frank said he’d text me later for some details but he really wanted to get some solo practice done before his band met up with him.

I flapped a hand at him to show that I heard him, but I didn’t look away from my examination of Jimi caught in an eternal power stance by a bygone camera. Frank chuckled and I heard him walk away.

Taking a deep breath through my nose and exhaling from my mouth, I tried to reach a zen place.I told myself I could get through a couple of hours being Frank’s boyfriend. Yea, it’s just couple of hours of pretend in front of my loud, very Italian family. I could do this and come out of it heart intact and healthy, right? None of the voices in my head reassured me, not even Liza.

I threw Ray a panicked look. “Ray?” My voice was faint.

“Yeah?”

“What just happened?

“Sounded to me like you got yourself a pretend boyfriend. We’ll in three days you’ll have one.”

“Three days,” I whispered.

“You ok, Gee? You look a bit pale, well more than usual.” I could heard the restrained laughter in Ray’s voice, but I could find it in me to care.

I made an inarticulate gurgling sound before retreating back to my shop. Last I saw, Ray looked as pleased as a cat picking canary feathers from his teeth. (New Year’s resolution #1: Trade in current devious, mastermind of a best friend for a more emotionally supportive, dumb one.)

I prayed that the world would end before Christmas Eve. Bah humbug.

  
***

 

The universe did not, surprisingly, answer my wish for world destruction. Instead the days went in quick succession like lined-up dominos falling to their endgame.

I didn’t see Frank, not that I expected to since I knew he would be in New York City for a few days to perform a show and to spend time with friends he had in the city (Ray had his uses, gossip-monger that he was). We’d only exchanged texts to discuss where and when we’d meet-up (my place at 6:30; I’d drive us to Ma’s house) and whether Frank should bring anything (No, but it was nice of him to offer).

The comic shop, completing illustration commissions, and Ray kept me busy as the 24th loomed ever closer. And I used the time to mentally reinforce the indisputable facts:

  1.  Frank was doing this as favor for a friend (that he has had sex with once).
  2. Our pretend boyfriendship would only last six hours at the most. I could totally make it.
  3. Boyfriendship is a stupid word; don’t use it again.
  4. I absolutely would not sleep with him again.
  5. I would get my heart broken if I admitted to Frank that I loved him. Don’t do it.



At exactly six thirty there was a knock on my door, and I repeated the list like a calming mantra, except it really did not soothe my nerves. But seeing Frank before me smiling crookedly when I opened the door made me forget how nervous I was or about the foreseeable consequences. All I could see was him and feel nothing but happiness for a blessed moment.

Then that moment passed, nerves rushed in, and I took in what Frank was holding before him. “You brought a plant?” I said.

Frank nodded and held up the red flowers in its terracotta pot, “Yea, there for your mom, figured poinsettias would make an acceptable gift during the holidays, ya know? I know you told me not to bring anything, but that didn’t sit right with me.”

“Oh,” I said, blinked at him once more like a myopic owl and realized something else, “you . . . you wear glasses?”

Frank quirked and eyebrow that eloquently told me, _well obviously_. Still he explained with a chuckle, “My vision sucks during the night, so I need them to drive when it gets dark. Other than that I don’t wear them much.”

I wondered if he’d wear the black frames in the darkness of his bedroom and – I quickly cut that line of thought. “Ah,” I said and moved to close and lock the door behind me.

“By the way, if we’re starting the night by pointing out the obvious then I should tell you, you look nice, Gee.” Frank’s voice was warm and slightly husky; it was a toss-up whether the compliment or the tone of his voice that had me suppressing a shudder.

I looked down at myself, eyeing the deep red of my sweater peeking out from under a pretty snazzy black sports coat my mom got me for my birthday; dark wash jeans helped keep the look more on the casual side that I preferred. Despite the more stylish look, I still felt pretty ordinary and hardly worthy of compliment.  

Quite involuntarily, I released an awkward laugh and could help running a shaky hand through my hair. “Thanks. Uhm, you do too.” He did. Even wearing a thick, dark blue cardigan with a band t-shirt underneath it as he did now, he couldn’t be more beautiful to me. Realizing that I had been staring a little too long, I motioned for him to follow, and in silence, a companionable one, we got into my car and waited for it to warm up.

Our silence didn’t reign for long, thankfully. As I backed up my car and then shifted to drive, I asked him how his gig and time in New York City was, he grinned excitedly, and narrated the whole thing, bouncing on his seat a couple of times as if he were back onstage playing for a crowd. I listened, not just because Frank’s enthusiasm made for an entertaining narrative, but also because music and performing had always intrigued me, with its freedom and power of connection. It’s only that I’ve never felt motivated enough to pursue it myself. My shop and working on my art, even my free-lance work as an illustrator, was enough for me. Still living vicariously through the Frank and even Ray was a treat I could never deny myself.

“A lot of people in the crowd knew our lyrics. Like I know you wouldn’t believe it; we’ve only started gigs like a few months ago, but they did. It was fucking rad!” Frank’s voice was awed.

I couldn’t help smiling widely at him, inexplicably proud of him. “I believe it. I’m proud of you  . . . and the rest of your band, I mean.”

“Thanks.” Frank replied, and even without glancing at him I could imagine his smile was as soft and sweet as the timbre of his voice. He cleared his throat then asked, “Not that I know much about this kind of stuff, but isn’t family time and present opening supposed to happen on the Christmas day, not Christmas Eve?”

I shrugged answering the question although my mind was puzzling over Frank’s phrasing. “Yea, we typically celebrate on Christmas day. But we’re actually having family from the West Coast visiting tomorrow. So we decided to celebrate as we usually do a day earlier, and then tomorrow we’ll dedicate our time to the extended family. “

From the corner of my eye I could see Frank nod in understanding and then gaze out of the passenger window.

Meanwhile I circled around Frank’s earlier admission. _What doesn’t Frank know much about? Christmas? No, that’s a pretty easy concept to understand even if you aren’t Christian_ . _Having family over . . ._ Then it hit me, I have never heard Frank mention any family. Ever. Mine would come up all the time when we’d talk in the past, but he’d never share his own family story or anecdote, not even childhood memories, as people want to do when they get to know a person.

My curiosity flared. I felt like I was in the cusp of understanding something important about Frank, if I only had the courage to ask him about it. But I couldn’t find the guts to outright ask him, so true to form I hedged around it.

“While I really appreciate what you’re doing for me,” I could feel Frank’s attention shift to me even as I kept my eyes on the road, my fingers tapping nervously on the wheel. “I still feel a bit guilty keeping you from your family or whoever is waiting for you on Christmas Eve. So, thanks, thanks a lot.”

It’s interesting how you can _feel_ a shift in silence. I always wondered how is it humans can pick up on such an intangible thing – was it biology or something a bit more psychical? But I didn’t wonder those things after I opened my big mouth, instead I immediately regretted bringing it up as I felt a heaviness in the air, a taut tension. Frank only stayed quiet, a quick glance at the passenger seat showed him looking steadily ahead, though his jaw was clenched.

And the silence stretched. It almost overpowered the Christmas song that babbled from the car speakers. Before I could open my mouth to bring up a pre-planned topic of conversation, Frank spoke with a sigh. “It’s fine really. I meant it when I said I had no plans for the holidays. I have no one waiting for me, as you put it.” The smile Frank threw me was weak in its reassurance, and he must have realized it because he stopped and bit his lip.

My gut twisted and I couldn’t help asking, like an innocent child just told Santa Clause is not real, that the man in the red suit is a sham, “Not even for Christmas? But your family –”

A humorless laugh cut me off, “There is no family, Gee.” Frank said softly as if trying to break the news kindly, but still bitterness laced his words. I had opened a wound and was watching helplessly as it bled a bit. I cursed my stupid, fucking mouth.

“You don’t have to tell me anymore, if you don’t want to. I’m sorry I pried.”

“I don’t mind telling you,” Frank said, sounding a bit surprised and released another sigh. “Technically there is a family. Mom and Pops aren’t dead or anything as tragic as that. Pops hasn’t been in the picture since he left Mom when I was ten, though he’ll find me randomly these days if he needs money or a place to sleep. And once Mom married Douchebag Greg, she hardly had the attention span or time for me. It was decided once I graduated high school that it was time for me to leave home, make my own way, as fucking Greg put it, and that I should make a point of only returning home on an emergency basis.  That was perfectly fine with me; I always felt like an interloper in that house anyway.”

Unthinking, I reached over to rub and soothe over the tension that I could see gathered at the nape of Frank’s neck and shoulders. I didn’t know what to say, another sorry seemed inadequate. So I continued rubbing tense muscles, once in a while softly carding my fingers through his hair. And he allowed it, even came to lean into the touch for a few moments.

Frank straightened and I reluctantly removed my hand. He smiled at me and said, with surprising insouciance, “It is what it is. And actually it suits me just fine. I’ll be ok.”

I knew he’d be ok. But was being ok enough? Should that ever be enough?

I turned into a quiet neighborhood cheerily lit by Christmas decorations planted on lawns, multiple Nativity scenes, and  thousands of colorful lights strung onto every house in the block; it was so bright that the lampposts were as effective as glowsticks in comparison. Glancing at Frank and seeing his wide –eyed expression I couldn’t help but comment in a serious tone, “We take Christmas very seriously here.”

Frank laughed, the former strain and sadness he carried gone.

My nerves rekindled like those damn prank birthday candles that relit even after you blew on them multiple times as I drove into Ma’s house at the end of the cul-de-sac. I could see the living room curtain shift, the movement to anyone else would have been imperceptible, but I knew Ma, I knew what to look for. Suddenly it was very important that this night go great; I wanted Frank to like my family and for them to lo- like him in return.

Frank insisted he help carry one of two large shopping bags that held Christmas presents that I had stored in the trunk of my car earlier that day. The night was frigid and still, our footsteps clicked on the concrete path leading to the front of the house. In the corner of my eye, I noticed Frank tuck the small poinsettia plant under the arm holding the shopping bag, and then there was instant warmth enveloping my hand as his palm and fingers nestled into my own.    

I didn’t even get a chance to ring the doorbell; I imagined mom was peeking through the doorbell watching our arrival. As soon as our feet hit the welcome mat, she opened the door open with such enthusiasm the festive wreath on the door swung violently. She smiled widely, and I could see practically see her mom-vision zooming onto our clasped hands; she damn near squealed her delight.

“Gerard, baby! Come in, come in!”Not even two seconds into walking into a small mud room, Ma yanked me into a tight hug that expelled my breath. She turned her attention to Frank, pulled him into a hug that looked as big and as tight as the one I’d just received. I heard a soft _oof_ from Frank and tried not to laugh too loudly. During this awkward dance of hugs, Frank and I managed to hold onto each other’s hands. Finally Ma stepped back a little, smiled at Frank’s dazed face and said brightly, “Welcome! Please call me Donna.”

Frank opened his mouth to reply, but Mom looked away distractedly and furrowed her brow at me in concern, “Gerard, why are you so flushed? You’re practically the shade of a tomato! Are you not feeling well?”

Reflexively I tightened the hand that held Frank’s and he squeezed back, which did not help how hot my face felt. “I’m fine. Just a bit hot.”

Mom brushed back a peroxide-blond curl behind her ear. “What a liar you are. You just came in from the cold.” No mercy, that was my mother.  She leaned towards Frank and said in conspiratorial tone, “He gets red when he’s nervous. The more nervous he is, the redder his face flames up!”

Frank grinned and waggled his brows, “I’ve noticed.”

“When he was younger and knew he would be in a ‘situation’ as he called them, like a school play or some presentation, he’d sneak into my make-up bag and cake on foundation and powder to cover up his flush. He thought I never noticed!” Mom threw her head back and laughed loudly, Frank’s laughter mingled with hers. A sound that I could get used to  . . . provided it wasn’t done at my expense.

“Y – you!” I sputtered. “I can’t believe you  - Well I never . . . How even? How?!”

“He’s super cute,” Frank said, winking at my mom.

I could feel my hand slick with sweat, and in self-conscious preservation I released his hand and covered it up by using said hand to gesture towards him. “Mom, give me that chance to formally introduce my, uh, boyfriend. This is Frank Iero.”

“A pleasure, Frank.”

“Are you all just going to spend all of Christmas Eve gabbing in the mudroom, or are we going to eat sometime soon?”  That dry tone could only belong to my brother, and sure enough Mikey’s tall, thin frame appeared by doorway.

Mom clapped her hands, “Oh, of course! The glazed ham should be ready now. Boys, go ahead and take off your coats and make your way to the living room.” And she left with an energy that belied her age.

I introduced Mikey and Frank while we wiggled out of our coats and hung them on the coat rack. We quickly hurried to the living room, immediately feeling comforting warmth from the gas fireplace. Dad was on his Lay-Z-Boy reading a Truman Capote novel. He allowed himself to be distracted from his novel long enough to welcome Frank, advise him to make himself at home, told him where the guest bathroom was located, gave a gruff nod and went back to reading.

I shot Frank an exasperated smile and rolled my eyes, trying to convey this was typical Donald Way behavior; he grinned back in understanding.  

Mikey watched Frank in a considering manner. “So you are Gerard’s boyfriend? I thought you were imaginary.”   

Frank’s lips quirked good naturedly, setting both shopping bags of gifts beneath the Christmas tree. “Nope, I’m of flesh and blood and very much dating your brother.” Maybe it was wishful thinking, but there was an edge towards the end of Frank’s response . . . a kind of challenge. Personally, I found it ridiculous how pleased I was to continue hearing Frank admit he was dating me.

Mikey narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything else Alicia, his wife, walked in from the connecting dining room and announced we should all gather for dinner.

The dining room was directly connected to the kitchen at the back of the house, creating an open and wide space that was saturated with the mixed scents of succulent meat, sweet, sugary desserts, and yeasty, fresh bread. I always considered this space as the heart of our family home; as we grew up it could be counted that Ma would bustle in her kitchen, Dad would at some point would find his way to the dining table to either tinker with whatever needed fixing around the house, and Mikey and I would complete our homework at the table as well, or on a stool on the huge island in the kitchen to be closer to Mom.

With Frank seated between me and Ma, the picture of home felt more complete. I couldn’t deny this, at least not to myself.

The table was already set, though Ma walked to and fro with bowls and dishes of food to set on the table, rejecting any offer of help. Finally, Mom came in with a casserole dish and set it in front of Frank. “Here you go, Frankie,” Ma said, “Gerard told me you were a vegetarian, so you dig into this, hon. It’s got no meat, promise.”

Amazingly, Frank’s cheeks pinkened. He quickly glanced at me in surprise before returning his attention back to Ma, “You didn’t have to go out of your way for me.”

Ma cut him off with a shake of her head, as she sat in her seat. “Nonsense! In this family, I will not have guest or kin going hungry or filling their plate with sides. I only hope you like it. I used a broccoli cheddar quinoa pie recipe I found on the internet, so it’s my first time making it.”

Frank could only nod at first, still looking caught off balance though a shy smile slowly curled into place as he served himself.

For a while, only the tinkling sound of cutlery serving and cutting into food rang through the dining room, but in this family silence only lasts so long. Soon enough Ma cooed about the loving Mikey and Alicia’s Christmas card, saying including their pets wearing match Christmas sweaters was inspired; Dad grunted his agreement; Frank brought up wanting a dog or five; Mikey told the story of how I was bullied by a gang of Chihuahuas for a year when I was eleven; I contested that the story was grossly exaggerated. There was laughter. The atmosphere was light and bright. At some point, Frank hooked his leg around mine and kept it there without breaking the conversation he was having with my mother.

I didn’t even think about fake boyfriends. I let myself feel happy.

 

***

 

The joyful, cheery atmosphere carried us throughout the evening. We drank Irish coffees in the living room as we exchanged and opened presents. Ma was absolutely delighted and charmed by the poinsettia Frank got her you would have thought he handed her jewelry from Tiffany’s.

Frank once again sported the expression of a man caught off-balanced when Dad handed him a present from under the tree mentioning it was from the family. It was a simple present: a warm, yet soft hunter green sweater.

Ma quickly said, “It’s not much since I had to get something last minute.”  She threw me a glare, clearly throwing the blame my way if the gift was too lackluster.

“No, it’s great. Thank you.” Frank reassured her with sincerity.

My heart thudded loudly in my ears when I handed Frank my gift, and I quickly hid behind my coffee cup. He unwrapped it quickly and then only stared at the frame that showcased a cover art I drew inspired by his band’s recently released EP. I was suddenly nervous that it seemed pretentious of me to have framed it, it implied that I thought it was important enough to hang on a wall or something, when he could very well just shove it in –

“Gerard,” Frank’s voice broke through my thoughts, “come here.”

“Why?”

He smiled brightly at me, eyes bright with something I couldn’t decipher. “Because I’m going to hug the fuck out of you. Come here.” He didn’t wait, instead he moved quickly and suddenly I had an armful full of Frank as he hugged me tightly. He was so close that he had to feel the loud, pounding of my heart; he _had_ to. “You’re – You’re something else, Gee,” he said so softly I almost missed it.

“AWWWWWW” The entire family said, the sound disturbing us apart. I glared at them, and as expected they remained unfazed with their Cheshire cat grins. And I kind of loved them more for it.

I wished this night would never end.

The evening wore on, too quickly for my liking. At some point, board games were brought out to the living room, including Scrabble, which was my Dad’s favorite game and so, it turned out, was Frank’s. Frank was the victor in the first round, and we all _ooohed_ like a live audience while Dad looked at Frank with a hint of respect and challenge. Dad trounced Frank on the second round.

I guess I had dozed on the couch while they duked it out during the third round because suddenly I was being softly nudged to wakefulness. I blinked up at Frank.

“Did you beat him?” I asked

“No,” he said with a petulant pout that quickly made room for a grin, “For a man of little words, he certainly has a way with Scrabble.”

I laughed.

“Anyway, it’s past midnight, Gee. I think we should start heading out soon.” It gratified me that Frank looked regretful to leave. And because I had an overwhelming, powerful urge to drag Frank down just to feel his weight on top of me, I nodded and quickly got up from the couch to let Ma know we were heading out.

It took longer that it should have to get out the front door, but hugs and words had to be exchanged and food in Tupperware had to be piled onto both our arms. Ma extended an open invitation welcoming Frank to her house any time, with or without me (I feigned hurt at her words).

Too soon we left the warmth and holiday scented cocoon of home and made into the dark, cold night.

 

***

 

The drive back to my apartment was a quiet one, both of us still feeling contentment from the evening and letting the peace of it settle in the car with us like a third passenger.

Glistening flurries of snow started falling when I parked into my apartment building’s parking lot. Neither one of us made a move to get out of the car once I turned off the engine. Frank turned to look at me, his eyes dark and hooded by shadow, still I felt alert at what I saw there and nervous, first-date nervous. I didn’t know what happened next. Do I thank him for playing his role near perfectly? How do we return back to how we were after this? This evening felt pivotal to me and it was getting harder for me to convince myself that Frank didn’t feel anything.

I licked my lips. “Thanks for . . . well, you know. You were great. This evening was great.”

Frank’s lips curved into a small smile. “Your family is pretty amazing.”

I smiled because, yea, that’s the truth.

We were close to each, as if we were sharing a secret, our voices had taken a hushed quality somehow. I don’t recall moving closer nor Frank leaning into my space.

“Which makes sense considering how you turned out.”

I couldn’t look away from him, not when he was looking at me in that way. “Turned out . . .?”

“Amazing.” His breath feathered across my lips and soon his own lips followed. We kissed, sweetly at first, brushes of lips that never fully disconnected. And with a quick slide of tongue, the kissed turned hungry and heated. Frank’s hands wrapped around my neck as if he wanted me plastered onto him, and I was all on board with the idea. My own hands cradled his face, thumbs caressing his smooth skin. It wasn’t enough; I longed for more than reaching over the car’s center console.

With a slick pop, our lips parted as Frank pulled away, but only far enough to lock his heavy gaze with mine. “You should really invite me in; I think I owe you a Christmas present.”  

I did. I couldn’t deny him, not on this night.

 

***

 

Morning light filtered from the curtains of my bedroom window, almost like a spotlight it landed on the side of my bed that was empty and cold to the touch when I rested my hand on the sheets.

A sick sense of deja vu awakened me quicker than coffee. Frank was gone. He’s not coming back, I thought with a heavy knowing. Yesterday, the love I felt and thought was finally being returned, that was all me. _Of course_ , it was just me. Stupid, foolish me.

There are times when you hope for the best but things change for the worse. When you realize as you stare at the cold, empty space besides you in bed that things are really fucked up. That this time there is no getting past getting punched in the heart by the same person a second time. These moments don’t make an exception just because it’s Christmas; that’s life.

It was hard to make peace with this fact, but I would learn to.

Feeling too raw and vulnerable with my nakedness under the sheets, I quickly changed, and once up, I couldn’t allow myself to sink back to my wallowing. I just trudged on, even if it was with heavy feet burdened by a heavy heart. Funny how something that was currently shriveling into a small peach pit could still carry so much weight.

 

***

 

The days that followed were not my darkest, not by a long-shot.  I would know because I had already gone through a period of living a thousand leagues under a sea of dark-dark grief and hopelessness right after my grandmother died.

In comparison, losing Frank (not that he was mine to begin with) was more like having a stubborn, Gerard-obsessed rain cloud following me through the day raining on my attempts to fulfill normalcy.

Besides, I had already gotten the most dreadful part over with thanks to Ray. For a few days after Christmas and we had returned to running our respective businesses, I made the judicious (see: stupid) decision to avoid Ray (which is hard to do when you run businesses next to each other!) and not respond to his texts; an avoidance tactic birthed by the fact that I really wasn’t ready to talk to Ray about what happened. Not that Ray cares about my mental preparedness for awkward conversations. Oh no, what does Raymond Toro do? He snatches my set of Copic markers! How he was able to do this or even how he knew the perfect moment to strike when I was taking a bathroom break I don’t know. I suspect he is paying off my part-timer under the table to carry out his nefarious, expensive-marker-stealing-deeds like some crime lord.

Anyway, that was how I found myself seeing Frank for the first time in three days when I ran over to the music store next door to fetch my markers and argue with Ray. As soon a Frank came through the door my next disparaging comment died in my throat. I turned to Ray asking him silently _What do I do? What do I do? I’m not ready!_ And Ray responded back just as silently with a furrowed brow and curled lip, _Talk to him, you idiot! Work this shit between you two out!_

I nodded. Then muttered, “I – I gotta get back to the store.”

Ray glared at me so hard, I couldn’t even return his gaze. But I did, to show I was a good sport about having my heart ripped out of my chest, glance at Frank and acknowledged him with a curt nod before hurrying out of the store.

I think he called after me, but I didn’t stop to find out. Besides he didn’t come after me, and if he has something to say, he knows where I am 9 till 6 Mondays through Saturdays; 12 till 5 on Sundays.

But I didn’t see or hear from Frank in the days that followed. And I dealt with this development, seeing it as the new normal. The timing really couldn’t be better, I thought to myself absently flipping through a graphic novel in my store, with New Year’s tomorrow I should really take the chance to build a newer and better normal. Maybe work on my assertiveness or I could be braver.

The shop’s front door banged open and revealed an angry Ray Toro.

“You greasy haired coward!”Ray yelled.

My hand automatically went to my hair. “It’s not greasy,” I said, hurt.

Ray stomped towards me all the while holding out his Iphone as if it were a crucifix. “What is this?” He said through gritted teeth when he was right in front of me.

I blinked at his Iphone with its blank screen, then said slowly as if Ray were a slow learner, “That’s a cell phone, Ray. It’s a kind of communications device that uses – ow!”

Ray had bonked me in the head with said phone. “Now try again.”

This time the phone’s screen was lit and on it was the last text I sent to Ray hours ago:   _Sorry, Roy. Gnna bail on ur party 2nite. Not feeling so good._

“Uhm,” I said helpfully.

“First of all, stop letting your phone autocorrect my name to Roy! But more importantly, you’re not bailing on my New Years Party, Gee. I know you don’t want to because Frank’s band is playing a gig at my place, but you can’t start avoiding every place Frank goes now.”

“That’s not the reason!” I said outraged.

Ray raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

Well, ok, that’s totally the reason, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Ray so I didn’t say anything.

“You’ll be there tonight.”

“No I won’t!”

“You so will be!”

“Make me!”

Ray only grinned at me evilly, a glint of promised pain in his eye.

_Uh-oh._

 

***

 

The New Year’s party at Ray’s was in full swing when I arrived at an hour before the New Year rang in. People milled around the porch, some raising their cup to me drunkenly as I walked up the porch steps. Ray wasn’t one of them, but that’s ok because right now I didn’t like him for using effective persuasive methods to get me to this dumb party. I told myself it would be a quick in and out; just showing up should suffice on my end of Ray’s (forced) deal.  This shouldn’t be so bad. Already I could hear the frantic, pulsing sound of Frank’s band, and didn’t feel affected by it.

As soon as I entered the threshold I could see the band, they were set up in the living room and already charging through the intro of another of their songs like punk-rock maniacs. I could feel my pulse beat like far away thunder in my chest, as I heard Frank’s voice. It was raw and sometimes rasped as he inhaled, bringing to mind a night when in the same voice he said “ _don’t stop, Gee, don’t fucking stop.”_  

Surprisingly, the memory made me bitter and angry, instead of sad. Maybe it was because seeing him play for his band, amazing and fully into his music, his expression fierce and stance confident was in such stark contrast to how I was feeling. And that just struck me as utterly unfair. Here I am trying to carry on with my life, feeling like I have a shriveled pit for a heart rattling around my chest, while only a small distance away, the cause of my heartache appears unaffected and ready to take on the world with the raw energy of his music.

Except, he’s only at fault as much as that by being himself I fell for him hard, and he has the worst morning after etiquette. The rest of this whole ordeal is on me: agreeing that he should be my pretend boyfriend (when I knew that was absolutely the worst idea), falling for him, sleeping with him – twice, placing hopes and wishes on the fantasy of us being together when I knew the reality of him would never actually want me.

With that thought my anger was doused by the disappointment that seemed to be following me around this past week.  

Christ, I needed a drink. And with that cheering thought I made my way to the kitchen, promising myself I would stay away from the living room a while.

Many bottles of beer on the wall and two shots of some awful concoction Toro made later, and I was just great. Who needs a boyfriend, pretend or otherwise, anyway? Psh, not me, no-siree.

At some point in my fuzzy recollection, midnight came in with its clamor and theatrics, and a little after that I think the band had stopped playing. Not that I gave it that much thought. By that time, my mind was pleasantly satisfied with buzzing and humming an insipid tune that vaguely sound like _My Sharona_.  

“So what do you say?” a husky voice said near my ear.

Oh, riiight. I giggled into my hand and tried to refocus my swishy brain back to the guy besides me.

I think his name was Allen or maybe Dillon? Hopefully there wouldn’t be a test on this later. He’s not the type of guy I usually go for with his wide, weightlifting built body and blonde hair and blue eyes. He was nice though, clearly very interested the way he kept nudging my hand and leaning into my space.  Maybe I should make my type someone who is interested in me?

“Sorry, I didn’t hear what you just said,” I admitted taking the last sip of my beer.

His hand nudged mine playfully, his pinky casually hooking mine, “I asked if you wanted to come back home with me. I can show you my board game collection.” He said with a wink.

I snorted out a laugh, “oh my god, does that ever work?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

I felt warm and flattered, but I hesitated for a second. My first instinct was to look around and see if Frank was listening in on this conversation as if I had something to be ashamed about. But I was accountable only to me.  I nodded at Dallen. “Sure, let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

We gathered out coats from the coat rack and stepped outside. I opened my mouth to ask Alvin where his place was, but instead I yelped in surprise when a strong hand grabbed my elbow and pulled me back.  

“Honey,” Frank practically purred, “where are you going?” His hand slowly moved from my elbow and traced a path to my hip. My heart hammered, and I felt warm where I was practically plastered to Frank’s side.  My brain sloshed as it tried to make sense of what was going on.

Aladdin saved me from responding when he voiced his own question, “Do you know this guy?”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Frank quickly said.

I made an inarticulate sound that both men ignored. Instead Allen threw a vicious glare at me that scared me a bit, and I felt Frank’s grip tighten on me so maybe he got scared too. Thankfully, instead of picking a fight, Melvin spat at the ground before muttering, “figures,” and walked back into the house.

We stood there huddled together at the bottom of the porch steps for a minute. Warm breath puffed around my ear causing me to shudder as Frank said, “Man, I thought he was going to beat us up.”

I pushed away from him, and immediately regretted the action because the whole ground was very unstable. I stayed still waiting for the dizziness to stop. It didn’t.  “What are you doing, Frank,” I ground out through clenched teeth.

Frank’s voice sounded angry, “I could ask you the same thing! Do you even know that guy?”

Anger rose within me, it tasted like bile at the back of my throat, “Where do you get off asking me anything? You are not my boyfriend, not even a pretend one at this point. And you made it pretty clear you don’t want anything to do with me, so what the fuck, Frank?” At this point I didn’t care that my voice sounded strained and the hurt I’ve been feeling rang clear during my rant, the world was still shifting at my feet and I felt sick. Really sick.

He made a frustrated sound, “Look, Gee . . .”

I was done listening. Opting instead to curl up and throw up over a pair of Converse that looked new.

“Ugh!”

I moaned my own discontent. I just wanted to curl up and die, and very nearly did fall to the cold ground, but a strong pair of hands grabbed me and pulled me up and, almost, steady. I felt so tired, so sleepy suddenly. I was on autopilot and only moved where those strong hands guided me to.

“It’s okay. I got you, Gee. Come on. We’re almost there.” Frank muttered soothingly.  “There” turned out to be the passenger seat of a car, and I fell into it like it was a life raft and with the grace of any drunk person knocked the fuck out.

 

***

 

I woke up with a dull, pounding thunderstorm in my head. My mouth felt like a week old gym sock had been stuffed in it the entire night. I smacked my lips in disgust and glared at my flimsy curtains that failed to block out stray, probing rays of morning light.

I tried to remember details from last night, but my head tensed in protest. _Right, aspirin first, then food, and then I’d figure out the rest_.

I got out of bed, dressed in comfy pajama bottoms with snowmen on them and a t shirt, and made my way to the bathroom.

The first piss of the day was sweet relief on my aching bladder. And after taking two aspirin, using water from the bathroom faucet to wash them down, and brushing my teeth, I felt marginally better. Edging my way to feeling human and not like gum stuck to the bottom of shoe.

The pungent smell of coffee scented the air, and upon recognizing the smell I could make out the gurgling chatter of my Mr. Coffee working its magic. I followed the lure of promised coffee to the kitchen, impressed by myself at having set the automatic brew timer last night while I was very drunk, and stopped short at the entrance. I blinked, then blinked twice more, just to confirm that there was indeed a Frank standing in my kitchen.

“Good morning,” Frank said, not looking at all out of place in my kitchen. He handed me a glass of water. “Drink some of this first, then you can have a cup of coffee.”  

I frowned at him, but took a sip. The cool water ran soothingly down my throat, so I took a few more gulps. In the meantime, Frank occupied himself finding mugs and grabbing my vanilla creamer from the fridge. The usual feelings of excited pleasure at seeing Frank were flat and reluctant; instead they were replaced with the guarded wariness of someone being around a dog that’s been known to bite.

“There are donuts on the counter if you can stomach them,” Frank mentioned.

I spotted a white paper bag dotted with oil stains on the counter but did not move towards them. I asked, “What are you doing here?”

Frank glanced at me and continued preparing two cups of coffee. “You were really drunk last night, so I gave you a ride home. Ray offered to bring you car over sometime this evening.” He traded my glass of water for a mug of coffee.

“Ok, but why are you here now?”

“I spent the night.” Frank said casual as can be.

I spat out a bit of the coffee I had sipped. “I had drunk sex with you?” I said horrified, then winced because my raised voice aggravated my headache.

Frank shook his head quickly, coffee sloshing dangerously in his mug. “No! No, nothing like that. I slept on the couch.” My apartment was so small that looking out of the entrance of the kitchen gave a clear view of the living room. When I leaned over to get a view of the couch I could see a nest of blankets and scattered couch pillows looking slept in.  

The dissonance of seeing Frank early in the morning paired with the knowledge that he stayed the night only doubled my confusion. “Thanks?” I asked. “You didn’t have to go out of your way. It would have been enough just leaving me here or even at Ray’s. I’ve done the whole waking with a killer hangover before on my own.”

He looked away with shrug. “I wanted to stay and take care of you.”

Instead of causing warm pleasure to course through me, his words and casual tone only got under my skin like a dozen splinters. I couldn’t help but glare at him, suddenly resenting how contradictory his nature could be. One minute he’ll look at me as if I’m wonderful, the next he will disappear and I have no right to demand his presence. Today he says he wants to take care about me, and I’ll fall deeper in love and find reason to hope, until he pushes me away and demarcates a friendship line between us leaving me to deal with my misunderstanding and overflowing emotions. This dance of ours was already familiar to me and getting old. My irritation bloomed into anger. It was anger that longed to lash out at Frank, but mainly directed at myself because I’ve just _let_ myself get pushed and pulled, thinking it was worth it just to have a half-life with him in it. But that’s a goddamn lie. I couldn’t continue being caught in the consequences of his actions; for once I had to make my own stand. The dull pain in my head seemed to buzz in agreement.

Straightening a little, I said through clenched teeth, “Thanks. But I’m fine and don’t need to be taken care of. I’ve gotten used to being left on my own and dealing with my own problems.” I bit my tongue wanting to say more pointed truths, but wanting to take it. Wanting him to stay but knowing he had to go.

Frank recoiled slightly, obviously having not expected this darker turn in my mood.  His pink, slightly chapped lips formed a small “o”, and I disliked myself for wanting to kiss him even when I was angry.  

“You should go,” I snapped, not caring that I was being unfair. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

Frank’s face quickly shifted from surprise to a fierce frown. He placed his mug on the counter and placed his hands on his hips. I followed suit, though opted to cross my arms on my chest. “What’s with you?” Frank asked.

“I just can’t do this, I can’t.” My throat felt dry again and I looked at the half empty glass on the counter longingly.

“Do what?” Frank sounded frustrated.

My own frustration was mounting, flaring the anger within me that strangely felt like courage too. The courage to say exactly what I want to say and to hell with the aftermath; I’d deal with the fallout later. “This!” My hands motioned agitatedly, gesturing between the two of us. “This weird thing between us that got fucked up a month ago. I need space, which is fucking hilarious considering we’re not going out – pretend or otherwise! I just can’t keep being friends with you. The way I feel about you will always get in the way; you’ll do something nice for me and it just pulls me in deeper, but then you’ll push me away, and I never feel more alone than when you do. It’s impossible to be friends with you and I think you know it.”

Frank’s face was carefully blank as he shifted on the balls of his feet, stuffing his hands now into his pockets. “The way you feel about me?” He muttered.

I made a sound like an irritated teakettle. “Don’t pretend. Not with this. You have to know that I like you as more than a friend. I’m so far gone that I’d settle having you as a pretend boyfriend any day if it means we’ll be just like we were on Christmas Eve. You have to realize this; I’m not good at hiding this type of thing at all.”

Hazel eyes that had been staring at the stained tile of my kitchen floor for a while now suddenly locked onto mine. There was a determined look set on Frank’s face; I could see his throat work as he cleared his it. “You’re right, I did know, or I at least suspected it. I just didn’t want to believe it most times.”

The admission felt like a physical slap. I pivoted so that I could leave the kitchen before I did something stupid like cry in frustration. Frank was quick, grabbing my elbow and turning me back around before I could escape.  “Wait, please.” the pleading I heard in voice forced me to stop struggling against his grip. “Just listen to the rest of what I have to say.”

In a snap, my anger ebbed away, leaving behind quiet resignation.  Tiredly, I said, “Why? Let’s just agree to stay out of each other’s way for a while and –“

“No,” Frank snapped, stepped back and began to pace as far as my kitchen would let him. “That won’t work! I’ve tried doing that, but I only end up missing you and thinking about you the whole time I’m not seeing you. So there’s no point to it.”

“What?” I said rubbing my head thinking my hangover was making me hear things.

Frank growled and raked his hands through his hair, and I tried not to find the sound slightly sexy. Tried and failed. “I stayed the night because besides taking care of you, I also wanted to talk to you first thing.”

He stalled, looking the most uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen him. The confident guitarist who could yell and deride a throbbing, raving mosh-pit starkly contrasted the restless, tense man before me it was hard to believe they were the same person. “Talk about what?” I tried to encourage, reaching for patience to wait for him to say something instead of asking my own questions.

He exhaled audibly. “I wanted to explain that this past week, no, this past month has been so goddamn hard because I tried to stay away from you. It was hard knowing that I hurt you. But I was stubborn. I really believed I could get over these feelings I have for you and maybe salvage our friendship. I didn’t want to be more than friends with you, Gee.   I never wanted to allow myself to fall in love with anyone ever.”

I opened my mouth, but firmly shut it. The image of Frank in my car after telling me about his family, jaw tense but eyes downcast in angered sadness, flashed in my mind. I took a cautious step towards him. Frank met my eyes and said determinedly, “For the longest time, I’ve relied on me to not just support myself but to gain my own success and happiness; I don’t have to rely on anyone. No family. Not a significant other. Just me. And that suited me fine because there’s less damage control to do when people leave.” He took a breath, eyes narrowing slightly in affronted accusation. “And then I met you and before I knew it or could stop it, my happiness relied on you because I fell in love with you. As you know  . . . I haven’t handled being in love very well.”

I hummed my agreement, biting my lip to hold back a smile. A thought struck me. “If you were trying so hard to not love me why did you agree to be my pretend boyfriend?”

To my surprise a slight flush stained Frank’s cheeks. He glanced away trying to look bored, “What? Are you saying going on a date with you, even it's pretend, ends up with a person loving you or something?”

I raised an eyebrow at him because _obviously_. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Frank mumbled something.

“What was that?”

With a glare Frank said, “I didn’t want you going on a date with that Gecko kid.” Frank glared more fiercely at me which choked back any response I was about to make.  “If we’re going to try this thing, I do not want a repeat of last night.”

I blinked. “Last night?”

Frank hissed through his teeth, “You were so drunk last night you tried leaving with this random asshole. You chattered my ear for over an hour once about how inebriated sex is on par with nonconsensual sex and there you were heading out the door with this dude with uneven sideburns.”

My smile couldn’t be held back any longer. “Good thing you were there.”

Frank huffed in annoyed agreement.

With a shaky release of breath, I tried to staunch the bright hope straining to pulse through me in tandem with my pounding heart. “So are we?”

“Are we what?”

I took a step closer to Frank, trying to keep my voice level and failing at it. “Are we going to try this?”

Frank nodded and said solemnly, “I want to return your feelings and not be scared about it. But I think the fear will stay until you can prove it wrong.”

His knuckles grazed my hand. Needing no further encouragement, I took his hand and pulled him into my arms, holding him tightly, relishing the sweet sensation of joy as he embraced me back. Unable to help myself I kissed him, starting on his forehead, trailing down his cheek, his neck, then making my way back to his ear where I whispered, “I don’t mind spending every day proving your fear wrong.”

“Hmm,” he said, rubbing his lips at the corner of my mouth. “I think you should seal that promise with a kiss.”

I did.

 


End file.
